


The Trophy

by onlyapapermoon



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bathing/Washing, Blindness, Body Modification, Bondage, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dehumanization, Dubiously consensual voyeurism, Eventual Happy Ending, Forced Exhibitionism, Fucking Machines, Helplessness, Humiliation, Hurt Shiro (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Nipple Piercings, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Bondage, Nudity, Original Character Death(s), Piercings, Power Dynamics, Public Humiliation, Rescue, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Sexual Slavery, Shiro (Voltron) Whump, Sorry Shiro, Tattoos, Voltron trash party, Voyeurism, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-09-16 12:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16954239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyapapermoon/pseuds/onlyapapermoon
Summary: Maybe it would have been more strategic, after finding him floating abandoned in space, to turn the Black Paladin over to the faltering Galra Empire in exchange for legal amnesty or to the rising Voltron Coalition for future favors. Keeping the famous alien as a trophy had been an incredibly satisfying experience so far, though. And Hiirl had a whole list of possible uses in mind for the Paladin.





	1. Prize - Hiirl

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags!
> 
> I'd apologize to the fandom again if I thought they'd believe me this time.

Hiirl knew he was playing with fire, but as the head of the biggest smuggling operation in the Empire’s territory, he was more than used to handling risks. When one of his ships had reported finding an alien floating in space, one that matched the description of Voltron’s Black Paladin, the former Champion of the Galra Arena, he’d been aware that the safest thing to do would have been to either kill him on the spot and be done with it or turn him in to the Empire for the significant bounty. But Emperor Zarkon hadn’t been seen in public since the recent battle with Voltron and as a result, the Empire was as destabilized as Hiirl had ever seen it. He wasn’t about to hand a victory, even a symbolic one, over to the Empire when its disorder was making his job so much easier. And besides, keeping the Paladin for himself was its own reward.

 

When Voltron had first appeared on the scene, an ancient legend come to life, Hiirl and his associates had welcomed its arrival. Anything that caused chaos and made the Empire refocus its military aim also made it child’s play to slip convoys around the Empire’s checkpoints for goods or blockades of planets. Hiirl had even started financing small but lucrative mining operations on the resource-rich planets “freed” from the Galra and now without much in the way of security.

 

But then something about Voltron’s presence started making Hiirl’s customers feel… emboldened. Once, he’d been able to charge whatever he liked for supplies smuggled in, or employ desperate locals for almost-free labor. With Voltron out there, though, they suddenly grew spines and started saying “no” – “no” to providing cheap labor, “no” to the exorbitant costs of Hiirl’s goods, “no” to handing over their resources for the pittance he’d given them before. It was infuriating.

 

So when the leader of the Paladins practically dropped into his lap, Hiirl decided to make his own symbolic victory.

 

Now, Hiirl lounged confidently in his armchair, head tentacles curled in satisfaction, ready to receive a business rival. The room he occupied was large and opulent, made to show visitors that Hiirl’s business was healthy as ever – the seats were expensive leather and the walls were decorated with precious stones and metals. Also decorated with precious stones and metals was his prize.

 

The Black Paladin sat at his feet, leaning back against the chair, the decorations on him glinting in the light, unimpeded by even a scrap of clothing. Gold rings pierced through the thin cartilage of his ears, a good number lining the edges of both, some of the rings joined with draped golden chains and others dangling solitary jewels. Thicker gold rings also ran through his nipples, forcing them into stiffened points at all times and drawing attention to his prominent chest. From each of those rings descended a short chain, then a large clear glittering gem, the pair of jewels cut specially to catch the light and the eye. His metal arm also drew the eye – the inhibiting band Hiirl had ordered placed on the Paladin’s bicep first thing was thick and plated in a shining gold, as were matching, purely decorative bands that encircled the arm just above and below the elbow, and again at the wrist. Each band was also encrusted with red gems as if to mimic its bloody history, turning the weapon that had been the terror of the Arena into a glittering advertisement of Hiirl’s wealth.

 

Hiirl had also made sure to advertise himself elsewhere on the Paladin’s body; his logo was proudly tattooed in glowing scarlet on the Paladin’s chest between his pectoral muscles, and again on his lower back. Hiirl was sure that the battle scars on the Paladin’s body might have been the most noticeable feature of his skin before, but now the tattoos took that place of prominence. Other piercings had been installed, but sadly, the way the Paladin sat obscured most of them. Brightest of all the decorations, fittingly, was the collar around the Paladin’s neck. It shone gold, though the metal at its core was a much stronger alloy, and red lights dotted its sides like even more gems. A glowing cord of energy led from its back to a special hook on the chair, tethering him in place.

 

It wasn’t as if the Paladin was likely to go anywhere even without the tether, though – the opaque black lenses that had been fit to his eyes, covering them to the edge of the sclera, took care of his vision, and the way he leaned his back against the chair probably had more to do with keeping track of his surroundings than comfort. Hiirl had no doubt that the Paladin was able to fight capably enough without aid of sight, at least for a while, but he was equally confident that the Paladin knew escaping from even this one room would be impossible while blinded. He’d seriously considered allowing the Paladin his sight back and using him as a gladiator for his guests’ (and his own) entertainment, but the alien had managed to escape from under heavy Galra security in the past and Hiirl didn’t like tempting fate too obnoxiously. Besides, showing off that he’d rendered the Champion harmless and decorative was probably more impressive, and certainly more satisfying on some vindictive level.

 

The Paladin certainly was decorative now, light reflecting off his adornments and Hiirl’s symbol shining on his skin. Hiirl had instructed the groomers to treat the Paladin’s scalp so that the fur on his head would grow out longer and to maintain it so the effect looked purposeful and decadent, rather than scruffy. It flowed past his shoulders now, the white streak at the front framing one side of his face as it cascaded down Everywhere below the neck had been carefully shaved, though, and Hiirl rather liked the more uniform effect than whatever had been going on with the random patches of fur that were there originally. As a bonus, it made the Paladin look more vulnerable, not to mention clearly unhappy with the change, given how much he always struggled against the groomers.

 

It wasn’t as if the Paladin had actually seen any of what was done to his body; he’d been blindfolded from the time his unconscious body was retrieved, and the lenses put in while he was out later on. He obviously was aware of the changes – he’d tried to claw at his piercings and especially the mark on his chest during a couple odd fits of what seemed to be panic, though it was likely he only knew of the tattoos’ existence due to the painful application process. It wasn’t as if anyone had stopped to explain to him what was going on. In any event, he was visually very pleasing to Hiirl, and observing this notorious alien brought low and transformed into his possession gave him a thrill every time, almost sexual in its intensity but not quite – this particular species just didn’t do it for him in the end.

 

Speaking of which…

 

One of Hiirl’s assistants leaned around the doorway and nodded respectfully at him before announcing, “Wekkani’s ship is just docking now.”

 

Hiirl nodded back and made sure his head tentacles were still held to signal ostentatious confidence. The Paladin at his feet tensed, then seemed to make himself relax into careful stillness. “Good,” Hiirl said. “Show him in here.”


	2. Present - Shiro

While Hiirl and Wekkani, apparently another smuggler, conversed about their illicit business, Shiro held himself still and silent. He hadn’t turned his head in the direction of the footsteps entering the room, and he hadn’t let his expression even twitch when the newcomer commented on his presence and humiliating appearance. Reflexively turning to “see” what was going on had only led to laughter from Hiirl and his associates in the past, and allowing them to see the effect they were having on him would only encourage them on to ever-worse humiliations. So for now, he breathed evenly and sat so that he was as covered as possible without looking defensive. It was a delicate balance, but one he’d had time to get used to.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in Hiirl’s custody, but he guessed it had to be more than a few months. His hair was long enough now to brush his upper back and had been that way for a long enough time for the odd ticklish feeling to become familiar. There was nothing between his hair and the skin on his back - he’d been kept naked aside from jewelry since the second or third day after waking up somewhere unfamiliar with his sight gone and his Galra arm useless for combat. It meant that the plush carpeting below him was a welcome change from the cold metal of his cell – or cells, rather, he was pretty sure they stored him in different locations at random so that he wouldn’t be able to memorize the layout of his prison. Less comfortable than the soft carpet was the way he imagined he could also feel the newcomer’s, Wekkani’s, eyes on him during pauses in conversation.

 

There was no way for him to confirm that Wekkani – a big, long-limbed bipedal alien, from what Shiro could tell from his footsteps – was looking at him, but Shiro had enough experience now to associate the prickling sensation on his skin with the pause in conversation right before a visitor asked questions about Hiirl’s pet Paladin. Maybe it was all in his head, but Shiro would take whatever sensory input he could get at this point and he’d save worrying about whether he was going crazy for after he escaped. Somehow.

 

“And you’re not worried about him getting away?” Wekkani was asking, confirming Shiro’s anticipation.

 

A familiar many-jointed hand carded through his hair and Shiro could hear the smug smile in Hiirl’s voice as he responded, “No, he’s learned that lesson already. Besides, where would he go?” The fingers tightened their grip in the strands, the one too many joints in the fingers making the grasp incredibly precise and holding his head in place without much effort at all.

 

There was a pause in conversation that Shiro couldn’t parse before Wekkani and Hiirl both started laughing. The hand in Shiro’s hair tightened its grip momentarily into actual pain, then went back to fond stroking – Hiirl always seemed fascinated by his hair’s texture; Shiro didn’t know what Hiirl had on his own head in its place, but human hair was apparently a novelty to him. Shiro stayed silent through the stroking and talk and kept his face stonily impassive. He knew that escape really would be almost impossible until he figured out how to get the lenses out of his eyes. The ship was just too big to navigate blind and he’d never been taken outside the living and business areas, from what he could tell, so he wasn’t even sure what direction the hangar of ships was in. Even if he knew the way, he didn’t think that he’d be able to pilot a stolen ship without his sight. He also knew that security here was tight; actual living guards patrolled the hallways, rather than unthinking robotic sentries, so he hadn’t been able to discern an exact pattern to their patrols yet or notice any obvious weaknesses. Apparently Hiirl was more worried about breakouts or break-ins than the Galra had been, given his line of business and the presence of legitimate threats to it.

 

The security hadn’t seemed as impossible to predict in the beginning, but it turned out that Hiirl had left it lax for the first month on purpose, at least where Shiro was kept. It had given him an excuse, or three, to show Shiro how pointless an escape attempt would be. Each time had ended with an ever-more painful punishment and Shiro hated that the thought of trying again sent an instinctive shiver of dread through him, now.

 

And as for where he’d go… He tried not to dwell on that, because it brought up a jumble of feelings he wasn’t capable of untangling right now. He hadn’t been able to see it, obviously, but Hiirl, with great amusement, had forced him to listen one day to a broadcast of some kind of event with the Paladins of Voltron – all five of them. It had been deeply confusing, but Hiirl had gleefully explained that the Red Paladin had disappeared, the Altean princess had been forced to join the fight on the front lines, and that the entire universe knew the Paladins were **so** relieved to have their leader back now. Shiro’s head had spun. Keith was missing, and whoever or whatever was leading Voltron now, it apparently looked and sounded just like him, enough to fool his entire team.

 

No one was looking for him anymore.

 

Shiro was still desperate to get back to his team, of course. Something was wrong; whatever his doppelganger was up to, it couldn’t be good and they were in danger. But every time he tried to figure out how to return to them, his thoughts circled uselessly. He couldn’t get out the lenses that kept him helpless on his own; he’d made the attempt more than once until his “handlers” had laughed and informed him that removing them non-surgically would destroy his sight permanently. He’d tried to get someone, anyone, to help him, but Hiirl’s employees were loyal, or at least intimidated, and reported his every attempt. That had led to constant punishments in the first month of his captivity until he finally realized that he truly had no allies here.

 

Hiirl’s visitors tended to be even worse when he’d tried to reason with them to help him; if he was lucky, they ignored his pleas completely, maybe with some cruel amusement thrown in. In the unlucky cases, they pretended to entertain the idea, sometimes going so far as to “sneak him out” and lead him through random corridors until depositing him right back in front of Hiirl for a good laugh and an agonizing “correction.” In the worst instances, they offered to help – for a price. The first time, Shiro had naively assumed that the trade was genuine. He’d been disgusted with himself for willingly submitting to whatever that particular smuggler wanted, but participated as enthusiastically as he was asked, reminding himself the entire time that it was for his freedom and his team’s sake. The moment the afterglow ended, though, the smuggler had laughed and gotten dressed again, and went directly to Hiirl to tell him what Shiro had attempted. The shame was even deeper when Shiro fell for it another time, and then another after that, but what choice did he have? It wasn’t as if he had anything left to lose on that front.

 

Speaking of which, Wekkani and Hiirl were still talking about him. Shiro didn’t bother paying attention to those particular conversations anymore unless he heard the word “Voltron” or something else relevant to the outside world. He knew what Hiirl was going to offer sooner or later.

 

Sure enough, he tuned in in time to hear Hiirl say, “Go ahead. There’s a lounge right through there; I have some things to take care of, but you’re welcome to whatever hospitality I can offer.” There were shifting sounds and Shiro felt Hiirl stand up behind him, then the short leash tugged upward. “Let Trowen know if you need anything, but the room should be… well-stocked enough for most things.” Shiro could hear the smirk in his voice.

 

A few footsteps came closer as Shiro pushed himself up to stand wearily, and he felt the tug of the other end of the leash being transferred between hands. The jerk forward was expected, and Shiro went where he was pulled. He could tell from the angle of the pull that Wekkani was holding the end of the leash at the same level a human of Shiro’s size would, but he was gradually forming a mental image of Wekkani’s build from how his movements sounded. From what he could tell, Wekkani was tall and lanky, and he suspected that the smuggler was actually much taller than him, just with disproportionately long limbs.

 

The trek across the carpeted floor to the lounge was familiar by now, and Shiro mostly paid attention to keeping some slack in the pull on his leash, making sure he wouldn’t be thoughtlessly jerked off his feet like a few times before.

 

He could tell he’d crossed into the lounge by the change in the floor’s texture, from some kind of carpeting to thick – and easier to clean – rugs layered over metal. He was pushed to one side, none too gently, and felt the rush of air past his skin as the door closed. There was an electric shushing noise as the leash retracted into his collar on Wekkani’s command, and then there was a warning of stirred air a split-second before the large three-fingered hand landed on his flesh arm and tugged him toward where he knew a large padded bench was located.

 

The first time, Shiro had fought. Hiirl had taken his time getting Shiro used to sitting at his feet like a dog while he met with people he wanted to impress, first with drugs to enforce passivity, then without, once Shiro had been forced to acknowledge that it was better to sit and bide his time during those meetings, no matter how humiliating it was, than to end up screaming in agony for hours due to another fruitless attempt at defiance. But that hadn’t meant Shiro was going to go along with it quietly when a weapons dealer of some kind had made a lascivious comment and Hiirl casually offered him the use of Shiro’s body for a few hours. It had taken two of Hiirl’s bodyguards to get Shiro into the lounge, but once the door closed, it was just him and the weapons dealer. With his sight, even without his Galra arm active, Shiro was sure that he could have taken the weapons dealer on and won. Blinded and weaponless as he was, though, he’d lost the fight to the dealer, who had turned out to be bulky with muscles and a capable enough fighter, and Shiro had found himself screaming once again as the weapons dealer took him against the door, laughing triumphantly.

 

Since then, Shiro had gradually stopped resisting. Not all of Hiirl’s more important visitors were interested in fucking the Black Paladin, former Champion of the Arena, but among those that were, he quickly realized that most of them actually enjoyed his attempts at fighting them off. They would walk out of the room with an audible spring in their step, uncaring about a handful of bruises if it showed they’d successfully taken him down. Even the few times he’d managed to keep a visitor away, a couple of bodyguards had come in on some unknown command – probably something visual, if he had to guess – and subdued him, binding him to the bench so that he couldn’t resist when the visitor tried again. For the last month or so, Shiro estimated, he had made himself dully go where he was pushed, hold the position he was manhandled into, and relax as much as he could to make the actual penetration easier, when that was what the visitor wanted. He loathed doing any it, but it gave him the barest illusion of control, and at least denied his rapists some bragging rights.

 

Wekkani’s hand was shoving Shiro forward, now, and he stumbled a few steps until his knees hit the edge of the bench. “Go on, then,” Wekkani said from behind him, and Shiro forced his thoughts into nothingness as he lowered himself onto the bench on all fours, the soft padding yielding comfortably under his weight.

 

There was a moment of cloth rustling, like Wekkani was starting to disrobe, then it stopped. And Wekkani laughed.

 

Shiro could feel the body heat as Wekkani leaned over him, large hands framing his lower back. “Hiirl never can resist, can he?” Wekkani snorted. One of his hands left Shiro’s back, but soon a finger was back, tracing, from what Shiro had gathered from guards’ comments, the logo of Hiirl’s company, branded in some unknown painful method onto his skin there. The words ‘tramp stamp’ had crossed Shiro’s mind more than once, with a wave of additional humiliation each time. The fingers left his lower back and returned with the rest of the hand as a sharp slap to Shiro’s ass. Shiro gritted his teeth. He’d had worse than a playful slap, even from someone as large as Wekkani, and he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of a flinch. “You know what? Never mind,” Wekkani said, pushing at Shiro’s side. “Roll over and move up on the bench, I have a better idea.”

 

Shiro went along with the push and positioned himself to Wekkani’s liking on his back. Apparently the “better idea” would be fucking Shiro in the missionary position. Creative. Wekkani hummed approvingly and the bench sagged near Shiro’s feet as Wekkani apparently settled himself. There were more sounds of cloth rustling and two clunks as a pair of boots was dropped to the floor.

 

The padding on the bench moved again and hands were settling on his calves. Wekkani hummed again and the hands slid up further, pushing Shiro’s legs apart. “Smooth,” Wekkani commented approvingly, apparently to himself.

 

Wekkani’s own skin certainly wasn’t as smooth; his palms and the pads of his bulbous fingertips were either heavily calloused or covered in scales, and Shiro could feel them faintly abrading a trail up to the insides of his thighs. Shiro let his legs be parted and clenched his hands around the sides of the bench as he felt the bench shift and the heat of Wekkani’s body come closer as he settled between Shiro’s legs. Wekkani’s hands slid over the tops of Shiro’s thighs to his hips and his fingertips dug in, the pricks of tiny claws making themselves known.

 

The hands stayed where they were for a good moment, and Shiro assumed that Wekkani was taking the time to look his body over. He made his hands relax so that his bracing grip on the bench wasn’t as obvious and just breathed.

 

Then Wekkani chuckled and the hands on Shiro’s hips relinquished their casual hold. The bench shifted again and Wekkani’s heat blanketed over Shiro’s body as he leaned over him, one hand bracing him up under Shiro’s arm and the other brushing over his ribs before fingering the gem resting there. Without comment, Wekkani lifted the gem and Shiro could feel the light tug on his nipple piercing as he played with it.

 

“These are interesting,” Wekkani murmured, abandoning the gem back onto Shiro’s chest and turning his fingers to Shiro’s nipple itself. The textured fingertips explored carefully, running over and around the nub, then finally pinching and stroking it and tugging lightly on the chain. Shiro tried to ignore the little flutter of heat in his belly, even when Wekkani turned his attention to the other nipple and played with it a little more confidently, groping Shiro’s chest with interest. The light tracing of claws around and over the tip of a nipple made Shiro hold back a gasp, and he turned his thoughts to a vague but viscerally stomach-churning memory of sand and the smell of blood and sweat and worse, willing his body not to react to the touch.

 

Thankfully, Wekkani grew bored after a couple of minutes and pulled away, but Shiro squashed the relief that threatened, knowing the worst was yet to come. Sure enough, the next place he felt Wekkani’s fingertips land was directly on his cock, and he gritted his teeth at the texture dragging down from base to tip.

 

“Well aren’t those pretty,” Wekkani hummed, and his fingertips danced over the piercings that Shiro liked least to think about. There were five of them in total, little metal bars running under the skin in a line down his cock, parallel to each other. Morbid exploration in his cell meant that Shiro had felt that they each had gems of some kind crowning both ends, no doubt matching the jewels set into the armbands and dangling from his other piercings. He wasn’t sure if Hiirl had ordered them shoved through his skin purely for decoration or for function, but only a few visitors had gotten the chance to make use of them; those who wanted to be penetrated had had to settle for some other method of satisfaction. There were those few who had tricked him early on, but for the others, they could do what they wanted with his body, but he wasn’t about to let them think of him as an active participant in the proceedings.

 

Shiro’s teeth ground together against his will when Wekkani’s fingers wrapped all the way around his cock and lifted it delicately, leaving his balls cold, then dropped it, sensitive skin slapping together. He had the movement of air as a split-second warning before Wekkani’s hand grasped his scrotum next, lifting it and his cock up and letting cool air brush against his perineum and ass. “Oh…” Wekkani murmured, sounding intrigued. Shiro assumed he was looking at the base of the plug he was wearing.

 

The plug had been inserted shortly before Shiro had been dragged from his cell and made to sit at Hiirl’s feet, willfully trying to forget about the warming metal intrusion all the while. This had become routine lately for when Hiirl had any visitor just in case they requested Shiro’s use. Shiro wasn’t sure if he was morbidly grateful for the indignity or not, since the guests rarely bothered to prepare him before penetration. The plug today felt larger than usual, too, and Shiro was not looking forward to finding out the dimensions Wekkani possessed to inspire that consideration. With Wekkani’s obvious interest, though, his rough fingertips now tracing around the base of the plug, Shiro knew he’d find out soon.

 

When Wekkani’s fingertips drew away and Shiro’s balls and cock were unceremoniously released to flop back down, Shiro guessed that “soon” had arrived. Wekkani’s body heat, slightly warmer than Shiro remembered humans running, went away, and Shiro felt his legs being pushed firmly apart. He didn’t resist, pulling away in his mind from the feeling of alien hands on his inner thighs, the shift of the bench cushions as Wekkani settled there between his legs. He breathed steadily and made his clenched jaw relax.

 

Wekkani’s hands shifted out and up, his nails digging in as he grasped Shiro’s hips and pulled him with little effort down the bench, tugging and arranging until Shiro’s legs were draped on either side of Wekkani’s body and his ass was propped up on Wekkani’s bent legs. Shiro could feel the warmth of Wekkani’s body close to his own groin. He started picturing the components of an Earth hovercraft’s engine when he tinkered with it, adjusting the angles of the helical inlets in the fuel injector.

 

Nails scratched little lines near Shiro’s asshole as the plug was gripped and pulled out, lubricant slicking its exit and trailing between Shiro’s ass cheeks. Wekkani made a noise of interest, but it was distant and unimportant. If Shiro spent a few hours rewiring the steering sensors, it made the hovercraft maneuver better, as long as he remembered to account for the increased sensitivity when riding it. Hands pulled his cheeks apart and the legs under him shifted, bringing something blunt and thick nudging against his asshole. The pressure nudged lightly for another second, then his hips were gripped hard again and he was being hauled in and the engine fritzed out in his mind.

 

It never got easier. Shiro knew that it should, remembered the stark difference between his first time and last with Adam, but his handlers had some kind of treatment that kept him from getting physically used to being stretched wide, so that every time made him feel like he was being penetrated for the first time in his life. Shiro clenched his jaw and tried to bear down, anything to make it hurt less. He knew that Wekkani wouldn’t stop if he tore or bled; Hiirl’s doctor would just patch up his insides yet again after the visitor left.

 

Shiro breathed through it as Wekkani groaned and ground his hips forward again, forcing his way further in.

 

His ass met Wekkani’s groin surprisingly quickly; at least it seemed that the alien’s dick was shorter than he’d assumed, though still thick enough to make him wince. It narrowed slightly after the bulbous head entered, but it was still one of the bigger girths he’d been made to take. Shiro relaxed as much as he could manage and tried to gather his scattered thoughts again.

 

The nails pricking his hips and the rough fingertips abrading his skin were unpleasant, and the dick forcing him wide stung his stretched rim, but Shiro reined in his thoughts with an iron will and the engine materialized again. The dick inside him was nearly pulsing as his body was rocked in a rolling motion, the thickness never fully leaving his ass, but he could see the grease on metal and the front chassis popping open to reveal the wiring inside. There was sun on his back and the smell of metal and oil in the air.

 

He kept fixing the engine as his body was used, and he breathed.


	3. Rise - Hiirl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this was started before Season Five aired, there are some departures from canon, beside the obvious one of Shiro's fate. For this story, I assumed that Lotor would have free reign after joining up with Voltron, so he would be free to pursue his own goals in addition to helping them. As such, Lotor isn't confined to the Castle here although it takes place before he informs the paladins of Sam's whereabouts. 
> 
> (Also, apologies for the short chapter!)

Hiirl was pleased. Wekkani had been easier than he’d expected; he’d caved to most of Hiirl’s ‘suggestions’ about how they could stay out of business competition with each other with only the smallest of concessions on Hiirl’s side. Their negotiations at a distance had been far more difficult, and Hiirl suspected that Wekkani had an advisor or two who wielded the real power in his command structure. It was something to think about, if Wekkani’s ventures started to overlap with his again and he needed to disable his organization by less friendly means. Of course, it could also be that Wekkani hadn’t realized the power and extent of Hiirl’s operations before, and seeing the size and luxury of Hiirl’s ship had made an impression. Adding in a sweetener probably hadn’t hurt the deal-making, either.

 

Speaking of which, two of Hiirl’s guards had been stationed outside the lounge with orders to send for Trowen to retrieve the Paladin once Wekkani was done with him, then have Trowen take him to be cleaned up, so that task was already taken care of. Hiirl was still very pleased that he didn’t have to also call down his personal doctor every time he lent the Paladin out anymore. The Paladin had apparently realized the benefits of cooperation, and though some of Hiirl’s associates complained about the absence of the fire they’d expected from the former Champion, even that worked to Hiirl’s advantage. He got to smile and casually explain to potential competitors that the Black Paladin had simply realized there was no point to fighting, not when Hiirl was always a step ahead of him and too powerful to oppose.

 

Hiirl’s head tentacles twitched as his mind moved on to his next move. With the immediate competition from Wekkani taken care of, he could move on to more interesting strategy.

 

The politics of the universe were changing. If he had to make a guess as to who would win, he’d put money on the Voltron Coalition – at least temporarily. He couldn’t see them holding together once the business of actually governing began, they were too disorganized and soft. The Galra Empire as led by Zarkon seemed to be deteriorating, but some of its factions were likely to survive even the fragmentation of the Empire, and he didn’t want to get on their bad side by openly siding with the Coalition. Both the Empire and the Coalition were matters to be dealt with in the short term, though. There was a third option of sorts available, one with more staying power.

 

Prince Lotor had thrown his lot in with the Coalition, but he wasn’t soft in the same way as most of its leaders. Hiirl suspected that Lotor’s chances were good to come out on top, or at least alive and with some measure of power in whatever the new order was. Either way, now that he was a fugitive from the Empire and obviously not fully trusted by the Coalition – as strongly suggested by his brief imprisonment by Voltron after the Battle of Naxela – he was in a prime position for Hiirl to gain some influence, or at least favor.

 

Hiirl could help Lotor by supplying whatever side projects Lotor assuredly had in progress, side projects that Voltron probably wouldn’t approve of or help with, given Lotor’s reputation among the universe’s underworld. Backing Lotor when others had retreated, spooked by the official brand of traitor, could only work out well for Hiirl. Whether Lotor came to power eventually as the only legitimate heir to the Galra Empire or as a part of whatever would succeed the Voltron Coalition, he’d eventually be in a position to help Hiirl in return – whether by turning a blind eye to Hiirl’s business or by granting Hiirl a legitimate position to use as a front, Hiirl wasn’t picky.

 

Hiirl’s head tentacles settled and smoothed themselves out. Yes, courting Lotor’s favor would be his next major step. And he had everything he needed to make a powerful impression.


	4. Raze - Shiro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually the second update of today, since Chapter 3 was so short!

After Wekkani left, Shiro had the space of just a few breaths to put himself back together before his handlers came back to retrieve him. The sound of the door opening made him tense, but he could tell from the footsteps that it wasn’t Wekkani returning, so he made himself take a deep breath and lay still. This part was predictable in how it would play out, at least, unlike most other things here, so he forced himself to think of it as a kind of reprieve. If nothing else, he would be back in a cell soon enough and finally by himself.

 

Whoever it was – light footsteps, spaced close together, and the slightest of limps marking it as the handler he thought was called Trowen – approached without speaking to him. There was a moment of quiet scuffling and some muttered complaints, and Shiro forced his muscles to relax at the sudden brusque grip on his ass, spreading his cheeks. The plug was cold again when it nudged against his hole, but he bore down and let Trowen push it inside, stoppering the wetness leaking down his thighs.

 

Trowen made a sound of mild disgust and pulled his hands away quickly, returning a moment later with a rough cloth that abraded the sensitive insides of Shiro’s thighs and around his hole. Shiro spread his legs slightly and let it happen. Wekkani’s come had been copious enough that Shiro’s lower half was practically soaked, and it was at least moderately more comfortable than leaving it there to have a handler wipe him down now, before the trek back to the room where they would clean him off more thoroughly.

 

Apparently satisfied that Shiro wouldn’t be dripping come through the hallways, Trowen moved away and there was a rush of air, a touch to his collar, and the sound of the leash extending. “Come on,” Trowen said, but Shiro was already sitting up with a wince to go where he was pulled.

 

Shiro had a fairly good sense of the layout between Hiirl’s main meeting rooms and the place the handlers took Shiro to be cleaned up, but he still kept count of the steps in his head as he was led through the corridors. It might come in useful eventually, and focusing on his surroundings had the side benefit of keeping him from thinking too hard about his body’s discomfort or the trickles of wetness escaping the plug with each step.

 

They turned a corner for the fourth time and Shiro slowed his steps even before Trowen gave the leash a sharp tug and told him to stop. Patiently, Shiro went where he was pulled by two new sets of hands.

 

“You think he’ll need treatment this time?” a new voice was asking. It was vaguely feminine, the newer of Shiro’s regular groomers.

 

“Probably,” Trowen said, his voice moving away as Shiro was made to stand in what he thought was the center of the room. “I didn’t see any blood, but Wekkani’s a big guy. We don’t want any complaints from the next one.”

 

A third voice laughed. “Of course not,” they said – masculine, but high-pitched and raspy, so probably Rabaan, another of the groomers. “Everyone wants to think they’re the first.”

 

The other two laughed as well, finding that ludicrous. Shiro firmly shoved down the faint urge to either laugh hysterically along with them or to make a lunge for the nearest person’s throat.

 

Someone’s hand grasped his and he startled for a second before relaxing and letting them pull his metal hand away from his body. There was the now-familiar sensation of narrow cups being fit over each fingertip and thumb, then a pull as they were magnetized or suctioned or something into place, capping each finger and thumb securely. The process was repeated with his flesh hand and he pressed his lips together against the weird discomfort in his fingertips. Then there was a pull on all ten of the caps, tugging his hands up and away from his body until he was standing with his arms spread up and out. From an early attempt at resisting, he knew that the pull was from the cables attaching each cap to one of the two sturdy poles on either side of him. Even wiggling his fingers too much would set up an uncomfortable strain in his chest and shoulders.

 

The brush to his left ankle almost had him kick out on reflex, but he repressed the urge with the ease of practice. He knew his reflexes still had the same hair trigger he’d had since escaping the Galra, but he’d learned to stifle them more effectively than ever since becoming Hiirl’s captive – apparently the constant threat of punishment had beaten into him what concern for his friends’ safety couldn’t, after all. The feeling of a loose ring clicking into place around his left ankle, then right, was sadly too familiar to pull him out of the descent into bitterness, but at least the subsequent steady tug on the rings as their attached chains were also attached to the poles was enough to break him out of it and make him focus on just keeping his footing.

 

Once Shiro was secured in a standing spread-eagled position and trying to calm his breathing, he heard Trowen say, “Alright, you have him from here?” There was a pair of distracted affirmative answers, then a pause, and then slightly-limping footsteps and a hiss of the door as Trowen left the room.

 

Rabaan and the female groomer – Shiro needed to listen for her name, in case he ever needed to know it – worked without speaking for a while, used to the procedure. First the bands around Shiro’s arms were removed – all but the one on his Galra arm that must be the inhibitor, at least. The dangling gems and their chains were unclipped from his nipple rings, and his collar was taken off. Shiro couldn’t resist twisting his neck a little to enjoy the moment of respite. He barely flinched as a pair of hands impersonally spread his ass open to tug out the plug.

 

It obviously didn’t change anything about what he could or couldn’t see, but Shiro couldn’t help closing his eyes in reflexive shame at the practical flood of come that followed the plug’s removal. Rabaan, behind him, choked out a laugh and swore. “Gendi, did you see that?” he crowed. “That Wekkani…”

 

There was a displacement of air as the female groomer – Gendi, apparently – moved around behind him as well, and she snickered. “Guess it’s true what they say about Biyans, then,” she observed once she had herself mostly under control.

 

Rabaan snorted in agreement, and Shiro willed away his flush and tried to ignore how soaked the insides of his thighs were as the groomers resumed work on him. He’d heard worse. At least he wasn’t bleeding or, well, worse, while they cracked jokes this time.

 

Gendi was still giggling a little as they hosed him down with staccato blasts of cold water that knocked the wind out of him and would have knocked him off his feet had he not been chained in place. He caught his breath during the brief respite as the blasts paused so one of the groomers could work some kind of alien shampoo or conditioner or something into his hair. The treatment was rough and efficient, the fingers in his hair tugging painfully at the occasional tangle until it was undone, but at least the occasional pain in his scalp didn’t keep him from breathing. When he heard and felt that groomer back off, Shiro closed his eyes and pressed his lips together and braced himself for the blasts of water to the head and face that always followed. Luckily, he managed not to gasp and inhale any water this time, though his face stung just the same.

 

Once the outside of him was clean came the most humiliating part.

 

“I think he’s still dripping,” Rabaan observed with great amusement from about waist level behind Shiro, prompting another brief fit of gasping giggles from Gendi. Then hands spread his ass cheeks again and Shiro barely had time to wince in anticipation before a thin cold nozzle was pressing against his hole and forcing its way in.

 

“Ready?” Gendi’s voice called from a distance away, probably at the far wall of the room.

 

“Yeah, go for it,” Rabaan said.

 

Shiro gritted his teeth. It was a small mercy that the liquid flooding his ass was lukewarm, rather than the freezing water used to wash the rest of him, but that didn’t make up for the embarrassment that came about ten seconds later, when the nozzle was pulled out and the water rushed out of him.

 

Once that was done, his cheeks were pulled apart again and the temperate water sprayed him down on the outside, but it still wasn’t over.

 

A second after the water stopped, the hand gripping his ass cheek dug its fingers in even harder, and someone’s slick fingers were unceremoniously shoved up his ass. It wasn’t like being fucked or even like the fingers he had to endure before a larger size of plug was worked into him; these felt around on the inside, meticulously invasive, making sure to coat every intimate inch of him with whatever ointment they used that made his muscles forget they’d been forced open before.

 

Shiro was grimacing in anticipation before the fingers pulled out, and sure enough, he was soon enduring a deeply unpleasant sharp cramping sensation from muscles that weren’t meant to cramp.

 

Finally, though, it was done. He was left standing wet and spread-eagled while the groomers walked away and did whatever it was they did to call for a guard to escort him to a new cell. He tried not to shiver and tried to feel human again, and mostly succeeded at the first.


	5. Influence - Hiirl

Contacting Lotor turned out to be shockingly easy – apparently the Paladins’ trust, once gained, was laughably complete. Hiirl barely had to employ any subterfuge at all to get his messenger to Lotor with an invitation for negotiations over a meal. Lotor’s ready acceptance told Hiirl that his assessment had been correct, too: the prince had few allies apart from the Coalition and he was eager to make connections outside of it.

 

Hiirl refused to become smug yet, though. He ordered in shipments of exotic meats and delicacies for his cooks to work with and gathered what bits of gossip about Lotor’s preferences that he could. Everything that could be used to bolster Lotor’s assessment of Hiirl’s potential as an ally would be used.

 

By the time Lotor arrived in his sleek little craft, Hiirl’s ship was in impeccable shape. As always, smuggled luxuries from the most heavily secured regions of the universe were on display, obvious testaments to Hiirl’s capabilities. Hiirl made sure to greet Lotor in the hangar himself, and they quickly set to exchanging pleasantries and subtly assessing each other

 

Lotor seemed surprised not to be searched by Hiirl’s guards, but Hiirl laughed it off. “You’ve been spending too much time with the Coalition, they’re rightfully spooked by everything,” he explained. “We both know you’d lose more than you gained if you pulled a blaster on someone here, and you’re not here to spy – I’m not incompetent enough for the Paladins to even know I exist, obviously.” His head tails twitched as he chuckled. The look on Lotor’s face was considering, and Hiirl hoped that his points had hit home – especially the implication that if they did ally, any business they conducted wouldn’t be brought to the Paladins’ attention.

 

The conversation from there was strictly social, though Hiirl still walked a careful tightrope of occasionally dropping hints about his influence in different areas while not being overly blunt about it.

 

After a tour of the more interesting parts of Hiirl’s ship, they came to the smaller dining room. Although it couldn’t accommodate more than thirty or so average-sized people, it was opulent enough to make up for it. Rare metals shone from the walls in rich inlay, and the table set for two was made out of wood from a planet that had been obliterated by the Galra before Hiirl was even born.

 

Once they were settled, Hiirl decided it was time to press his advantage. He pressed a button on the table and smiled reassuringly at Lotor’s expression of suspicion. “I thought we should have a show with dinner,” he explained diffidently, then called, “Bring him in!” He ostensibly kept his eyes forward to watch the entertainment emerge, but surreptitiously watched Lotor’s reactions.

 

The prince’s reactions didn’t disappoint. There was a second of actual shock, then confusion on that regal face, before they were smoothed into something less extreme, though Lotor’s eyebrows had yet to descend from where they’d risen.

 

“I could have sworn I saw him just earlier today,” Lotor murmured to Hiirl, lips curled ironically. “Either you work quickly, or something very odd is happening.”

 

Hiirl grinned.

 

The Paladin had been led into the room by a pair of employees – Unilu who were on the shorter side, Hiirl had carefully chosen them for the assignment for the glaring size difference between the handlers and their docile charge. The Paladin stood where they left him, face blank but lips pressed tightly together as if to conceal nervousness.

 

He was right to be nervous, of course – his arms were bound behind him, which was unusual enough after the first two months had ended, painfully wrenched back so that his elbows nearly touched and his chest was artificially thrust forward, forearms pulled close to the opposite bicep and bound there with straps until his arms almost formed a triangle behind his upper back. In addition to the strangeness of the bondage, Hiirl had also had the groomers take some extra time with his appearance. He’d been freshly shaved, rubbed with fragrant oils, and rouge had been meticulously applied to his lips, his nipples, and his cock, the blush emphasizing the latter two even further than their sparkling adornments already did.

 

The change in procedure was obviously making the Paladin nervous, but Hiirl was pleased to see that he followed the implied directions all the same – not that he really **could** go anywhere if he disobeyed, anyway. This was a new room to him and it would take him ages to find an exit on his own, let alone figure out what to do beyond that. If he reverted to past behaviors and began trying to talk his way out of the situation instead, well, each of the handlers had a gag on hand, though it would be a pity to stifle him, given what would come next.

 

Lotor was studying the Paladin with narrowed eyes. “Well?” he finally asked again, turning to Hiirl inquisitively. “Where did you get him? What is he?”

 

“Oh, this is the **real** Black Paladin.” Hiirl grinned and leaned back in his seat, despite the sharply baffled look Lotor sent him. He continued, carefully avoiding any mention of Zarkon – it seemed insensitive to mention Lotor’s father, given the prince’s current status, “One of my ships found him in the aftermath of that large battle a few months ago. I suppose I could have turned him over to the Empire or to the Voltron Coalition, but, well.” He shrugged and smiled, casually good-humored, and gestured at the Paladin. “It turns out that he’s very entertaining to keep around.”

 

“So the man leading Voltron now is… Hmm. Oh. Well, that’s interesting.” Lotor was back to studying the Paladin curiously. “What is wrong with his eyes?” he asked, seeming more intrigued and less skeptical by the moment.

 

“He’s wearing blinkers, of a sort. I found it keeps him more focused.”

 

“And the… decorations?” Despite the thoughtful pause, the way Lotor’s gaze roamed over the Paladin’s body suggested he wasn’t objecting to the adornments.

 

Hiirl kept his smile as casual as before, carefully not revealing his satisfaction at engaging Lotor’s interest. “I thought they added something,” he said, instead. “I started off wanting to draw attention to his better assets, but from there I just added whatever seemed appealing.” He shrugged. The truth, of course, was that Hiirl had ordered an artist who owed him a debt to plan the arrangement of piercings and markings, but at the moment, he needed to show how far beneath his attention a Paladin of Voltron was.

 

As Hiirl spoke, one of the two Unilu brought out and arranged a sort of solid half-tube in the center of the room, then attached it securely to the floor at its corners. It looked like a large cylinder cut in half lengthwise and lay cut-side-down on the floor, its surface a matte black. There was nothing especially remarkable about it, but the way Lotor’s mouth twitched suggested he knew what was coming.

 

The Paladin’s head moved slightly as if he was listening intently to the device being moved on the floor, but when the two Unilu guided him to stand over it and then lowered him into a kneeling position, he went where he was pushed all the same, reluctance in every line of his body but resignation on his face. He couldn’t see it, so he was clearly unaware of the silent, almost menacing, rise of a thick, slightly curved rod from the top of the device, directly under him.

 

When two sets of hands went to his shoulders and rearranged his position, his blank expression cracked, allowing confusion through, but the mask fell away completely to reveal pained shock when they firmly pushed him down, lowering him onto the lubricated rod and forcing it into his body. He didn’t yell, but his mouth dropped open in a harsh gasp when it bottomed out and he was left sitting on the half-cylinder. He immediately struggled to get his feet back under him and stand, only to be stopped by the restraints the Unilu had used their spare sets of hands to snap on at the same time. Thick metal bands now wrapped from the device to around his upper thighs, holding his ass flush against its top as he was forced to kneel on the ground.

 

The pair of Unilu retreated and let him thrash helplessly against the restraints, trying fruitlessly to get his feet under him and dislodge the rod now filling his ass. It couldn’t be as unpleasant as he was making it look; Hiirl knew for a fact that he’d taken much larger cocks than the fake one inside him, though it was of a considerable size – in fact, he’d ordered it modeled on reports of Lotor’s… measurements, garnered from a couple of former paramours. The similarities otherwise weren’t anything obvious, but Hiirl hoped that Lotor would be unconsciously flattered by the familiarity. A quick glance showed Lotor looking intrigued by it all, eyebrows arched high in what might be bemusement.

 

Finally, the Paladin seemed to tire himself out, or at least resign himself to the situation. He still looked like he was straining against his bonds, trying to lift even a hair higher off the rod, and his face had gone red with what was probably humiliation, but he was no longer thrashing around.

 

That was when the food arrived, and Hiirl and Lotor let themselves be served. Hiirl didn’t insult Lotor by explaining the more exotic foods, and Lotor calmly accepted what he was served, only offering his compliments to the chefs. For the moment, their conversation turned to the cuisines of different systems.

 

While they talked, the Paladin had settled even further, and he was now seated fully on the device and on the fake cock in his ass, jaw set as he resumed the blank expression Hiirl suspected he wore in some kind of attempt to defy him. He might as well have been a statue. Hiirl was looking forward to destroying that composure, though, and he smiled when he and Lotor eventually came to a lull in conversation.

 

Hiirl finished his drink and pulled a small metal disk from his pockets – the remote. He offered it wordlessly to Lotor, who waved it down with a smile of his own, deferring to Hiirl’s judgment in what would be most entertaining. Hiirl settled more comfortably in his seat and considered the remote for a moment before swiping his finger in a careless circle over it. Lotor set his own utensils down and leaned back, as well.

 

The Paladin jolted as the rod inside him began to slowly pull out, and his eyebrows furrowed together as he tried to wriggle in place again. Even if he hadn’t known the rhythm different settings would produce, Hiirl would still have seen the moment the rod began pumping in again. The Paladin’s eyes went wide, revealing more of the lenses than before, and his expression was one of shock, then dawning despair as the rod pushed in even deeper than before and he obviously recognized what was happening.

 

The Paladin’s jaw clenched and his body jolted, sending the gems on his chest swaying and sparkling in the light. Hiirl kept the setting low for the time being, letting the Paladin to wear himself out – he had begun to struggle again, trying to buck, his thighs tensing and bulging under the metal bands. His face twisted in distress at this new humiliation, and Hiirl smiled. He took another drink.

 

The Paladin tried leaning forward to get more leverage as he fought against his restraints, twisting in place and unable to escape the fake cock slowly fucking him. Low sounds of strained effort escaped him, and Hiirl glanced over while the Paladin struggled fruitlessly, checking on Lotor’s reaction. Lotor’s eyebrows were raised again, but the half-smile had never left his face as he watched. Satisfied, Hiirl turned his eyes back to the show.

 

The Paladin hadn’t given up on fighting yet, and was practically growling in frustration. His writhing began to slow, though, and his head lifted and turned in Hiirl’s general direction. The Paladin’s lips pressed together and his eyebrows lowered for a second before he turned his head away from both Hiirl and Lotor, and his jaw set as his struggles ceased. The blank mask from before dropped into place. Now it looked like he was just reluctantly sitting on the machine, with no sign that he was being fucked apart from the occasional shift or grimace.

 

Hiirl immediately reached for the remote. He’d been waiting for this. A sweep of a finger in a specific direction, and the Paladin jolted. His eyes went wide and then slammed shut, and the muscles in his angular jaw tightened, but he stayed mulishly still. Hiirl frowned, then quickly hid the expression before Lotor looked over.

 

“Did it stop?” Lotor sounded bemused.

 

Hiirl smiled winningly and repeated the swiping motion over the remote. “No, he’s just decided to be stoic for now. Don’t worry, it won’t last.”

 

Sure enough, the Paladin’s eyes were clenched shut again, and his body began to shiver under the much faster assault. Hiirl knew that it wouldn’t be enough to get the reaction he wanted, so he flicked his finger against the remote’s center, causing the fake cock to vibrate. The Paladin’s body stiffened. Lotor leaned forward, intrigued.

 

A low noise left the Paladin’s mouth, almost a groan, but it was swallowed short and Hiirl could almost hear the Paladin’s teeth grinding as he tried to keep back anything further. Hiirl dragged his finger across the remote at a specific angle. The Paladin’s mouth dropped open in shock and a surprised “ah” punched out of him. Between his legs, his cock twitched.

 

The Paladin’s face flushed, his body bowing forward on instinct to escape the fake cock’s newly angled assault on his insides, the gems dangling from his chest now brushing the surface of the half-cylinder. Hiirl had questioned the groomers early on; they’d reported to him that the Paladin’s body had an interesting reaction to pressure on a specific spot inside his ass, and Hiirl had decided that this night was a good time to make use of that knowledge.

 

The Paladin’s body was still shaking, both in reaction to the vibrations and from the effort of holding himself at an awkward angle, but he’d escaped the pressure of the thrusts against where he was most oddly sensitive. Hiirl decided that wouldn’t do, and gestured to the two Unilu who had stepped back unobtrusively. They took action right away, walking briskly to either side of the Paladin and each grabbing a shoulder, heaving him upright again.

 

Another breathy “ah!” escaped the Paladin, and distress was twisted across his face as he tried to push forward and buck out of the Unilu’s four-fold grips. They were stronger than they looked, though, and the Paladin was forced to writhe in place as much as he could as the fake cock shook inside him and pounded into his ass. His cock was visibly interested now, and the blush on his face had traveled down to his neck and heaving chest. He panted and shivered as his cock filled, growing and hardening and making the jewels on it glint as it shook with the rest of his body.

 

“Could he climax just from that?” Lotor wondered aloud, interest clear in his voice.

 

Hiirl smirked and leaned back in his seat, setting the remote down again so he could wave at an attendant to refill his cup. “You’ll find out very soon,” he promised with a small laugh.

 

The Paladin was still panting and trying to twist out of his handlers’ grips, failing to stifle moans of mingled arousal and distress. He finally had given up on keeping his face turned away from Hiirl and Lotor. “Pl-” he started to say, but cut himself off, swallowing down the useless plea and dropping his head. A groan tore itself from his chest instead.

 

Lotor shifted in his seat, uncrossing his legs and clearing his throat a little, his cheeks a slightly darker purple than they’d been at the start of dinner. Hiirl carefully kept his own joy off his face – the Galra prince was obviously enjoying the show as much as Hiirl had hoped.

 

The Paladin had begun to pant out helpless and senseless noises, writhing now for more than his original reason. His cock was standing erect by now, smacking against his belly when he jolted and leaving the first shining streaks of fluid on his skin. He’d thrown his head back and was gritting his teeth as if that would keep in the sounds of arousal that kept pouring out of him.

 

Hiirl leaned forward in anticipation, and Lotor was shifting in his seat again, smile twitching further at his lips.

 

The Paladin had finally been stripped of all appearances of stoicism. Whines escaped his gritted teeth and he shook under the Unilu’s hands. His mouth suddenly dropped open as if in shock and he gasped for breath. Then the Paladin’s body stiffened, every muscle going taut, and he came with a cry like defeat.

 

The Paladin’s breathing was loud in the room, and Hiirl looked over to Lotor and offered, “Dessert?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the really bad Shiro!whump, I swear!


	6. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got impatient lol. Short chapter, but I hope it works!

“So. I gathered some information you might be interested in hearing.”

 

“Oh yeah? What is it?” Wary.

 

“It’s about your Black Paladin.”

 

“Shiro? What is it – do the Galra have something on him? Hold on, I’ll contact the Castle-”

 

“No! No. This is for you to hear alone.”

 

A pause.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“He’s been different since he returned, hasn’t he?”

 

“Again – what are you **talking** about?”

 

“You know Naxela could have ended everything.”

 

“Okay, you know what, thanks, but I’m gonna go now-”

 

“ **Think**. If I hadn’t happened to hear that transmission, you would all be dead. Voltron, the rebels, the Blade of Marmora. All the Empire’s enemies, gone, in one fell swoop.”

 

“And? It didn’t happen, okay?”

 

“Whose plan was it? The whole thing, the way I heard it.”

 

“What the hell are you accusing Shiro of?!”

 

“Oh, I’m not accusing your leader of anything – your **real** leader, that is.”

 

Another pause, more heated.

 

“What the **hell**.”

 

“What would you say if I told you that your team has been working with a… replacement.”

 

“I’d say you were crazy, to start with-”

 

“And, if I said that I’d located the original in… somewhat dire straits?”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“Put it together. If the man leading Voltron isn’t the real Shiro – and yes, I’m sure he believes that he is – then the actual Shiro must be out there. Somewhere. Perhaps in the custody of a certain smuggler whose ship I infiltrated last night.”

 

“You… I don’t – I don’t believe you. This is crazy.”

 

“Perhaps. But why would I lie about this?”

 

“I don’t know, why do you do anything? Look, I can’t… He’s human, okay, he’s been through a lot and accidents happen, Zarkon’s witch got lucky or something…”

 

“Oh. I see. You’ve been wondering about this, haven’t you.”

 

“Shut. Up.”

 

“Alright. I’ll stop talking. But you should know first that the smuggler’s name is Hiirl. His ship is in the Xiridian System. If you happened to pass by that area, and, oh, I don’t know, just happened to scan his ship for a specific biorhythm…”

 

“What are you after?”

 

“Such mistrust. If you have to know, maybe I’d rather we didn’t find out if the witch had any backup plans for the replacement Black Paladin. And perhaps I don’t enjoy knowing that a man with such potential is being… squandered.”

 

“…What did you mean when you said ‘dire straits?’”

 

“Well. He’s not exactly enjoying himself. I mean, I suppose he did to some degree by the end, but…”

 

“I don’t – what?”

 

“You’ll want to go with people who can be trusted to be discreet. Trust me. The criminal underworld of the universe may all know what Hiirl has been doing with him, but I’m sure Shiro would rather as few of his subordinates know as possible.”

 

“This is insane.”

 

“So you’ve said. But you might want to leave before the day is out, all the same, I’m not sure the smuggler’s vessel will stay in that location much longer.”


	7. Reward - Hiirl

There was a brittleness to the set of the Paladin’s shoulders that Hiirl found intriguing. It was a slow morning; Hiirl had kept to his strict personal regimen and woken up at the normal time despite the late night previously, but he had no appointments or visitors planned for the day, and he planned to spend it reviewing his assets and recent acquisitions. It wasn’t the most exciting work, but he hadn’t made his name in the field by being sloppy or letting himself coast after a single success. He’d made himself comfortable in one of his private studies and swiped through data pad after data pad, checking maps and reports and transaction records, with the Paladin at his feet.

 

He didn’t always make the Paladin sit with him when he was working on business alone, but it was a useful habit to enforce once every few days or so. Not only did it reinforce the Paladin’s position, but it kept Hiirl from needing to assign someone to keep an eye on him right after a new experience, lest he do something stupid to himself. It hadn’t been an issue so far, but Hiirl wasn’t about to take any chances

 

Besides, keeping the Paladin leashed to the chair Hiirl lounged in was a good reminder to Hiirl of his own success and how he’d made it happen. When he felt himself losing interest in materials that seemed so dry he was tempted to delegate, he would reach down and run his fingers through the Paladin’s hair and he would be instantly reminded of the rewards of diligent work. It was like the gemstone ring from Kish’adrin he still wore, the one smuggled with other jewels out of their royal treasury in the wake of a rebellion crushed by the Galra – the operation had cost the lives of five of his operatives, but the profit from it had allowed him to expand into three new sectors.

 

Touching the Paladin’s hair and feeling him try not to tense was also a pleasant reminder of the night before. Lotor had been obviously gratified by the offer to take the Paladin somewhere more private after dessert, but had been forced by the late hour to reluctantly return to his unsuspecting hosts before he could go through with it. He’d seemed disappointed, but had turned to Hiirl, smiled, and smoothly went on to say that he would love to take the opportunity next time he visited Hiirl’s ship – perhaps in about a week and a half, when the Paladins of Voltron would be distracted by a celebration elsewhere?

 

Hiirl had agreed, of course, after pretending to consult with an assistant about his own schedule, and kept his celebration of the promised “next time” entirely in his own mind as they said their goodbyes and he watched Lotor’s slim little ship leave the hangar. He’d made sure to give the Paladin a fond pat on the head, though, as the Unilu unstrapped him from the contraption and escorted him on wobbly legs back to his groomers.

 

Now, Hiirl was coming to another dry section in a report, so he reached down and combed his fingers through the Paladin’s hair. It had taken some training before the Paladin would accept that without trying to fight it, and Hiirl still wasn’t sure if that was because it was a touch in general, or because being touched so intimately on the head was considered as demeaning to the Paladin’s species as it was to Hiirl’s own. Either way, it was a little triumph that he could casually humiliate the former Black Paladin this way whenever he felt the urge, and all the Paladin could do was close his eyes and take it.

 

Hiirl looked away from his report for a moment and down at the subject of his current thoughts. The Paladin was still sitting there, obviously. He wasn’t curled around himself, exactly; he’d taken the position he usually did when on the floor and leashed to Hiirl’s chair, but something was different about the way he held himself, something Hiirl recognized now from previous times the Paladin had encountered something new.

 

It made Hiirl think – the Paladin was pliable enough these days that he might be able to press the advantage and finally train him. It was nice enough to let his guests use the Paladin as they liked, but the Paladin no longer resisted or really interacted with them and the mere fact of being able to fuck the famous alien would lose its novelty soon, especially for returning visitors. If Hiirl could get the Paladin to become cooperative enough – he had to be halfway to fully broken by now, and a few weeks’ intensive work might get him all the way there – he could bring in a contact from one of the brothels he sponsored and get him some training in how to properly service the guests.

 

Hiirl smiled a bit and his head tentacles shifted at the thought. Yes, that seemed like a good plan. For the time being, he could offer some of his employees a reward for their hard work, and since it seemed like the Paladin had responded well to being betrayed by his body, he’d request that his men keep pushing at that and the degradation angle, and after a few weeks of alternating that and whatever punishments became necessary, the Paladin would probably be ready to accept some instruction.

 

Hiirl nodded to himself and gave the Paladin’s hair a last stroke. Before he could go back to his report, though, his thoughts were interrupted by his wrist communicator pinging an alert.

 

He sighed. It seemed they were under attack, though not by any major force. He tapped the communicator for an explanation. The communicator instantly projected a hologram showing his head of security, who succinctly explained that a small ship, dark in color with purple markings and only about twice the size of Lotor’s craft from the previous day, had appeared out of nowhere and then disappeared again, never firing any shots.

 

“Well?” Hiirl demanded urgently, all the same. “Locate it!”

 

The security head made a quick gesture of assent and the hologram flickered off. Hiirl folded his hands together and rubbed at his temples with a pair of head tentacles. He’d been hoping for an uneventful morning to bask in his success, but apparently that wasn’t an option today. The Paladin was tense and unmoving at his feet, but Hiirl put him out of his mind for the moment. There were more important things to attend to.

 

Such a small craft, not showing signs of aggression, wouldn’t seem like a threat, but if its cloaking was good enough to fool Hiirl’s ship’s sensors, then it definitely was one. His mind raced, even as he automatically hit the button on his chair to call for his personal guards. It wouldn’t be Galra, not such a small fast thing, and the single ship meant it obviously wasn’t the Voltron Coalition having found him, so it was likely one of his rivals. He didn’t recognize the description, but that just meant more caution was needed, especially since he himself was the most likely primary target. He pressed the button again.

 

The doors slid open, and Hiirl was just opening his mouth to chastise his guards for taking so long when they should have been just outside, giving him privacy to work, but it wasn’t his guards in the doorway.

 

The figure standing there was much smaller than Hiirl’s burly guards, slim and clad in black armor with a hood and a mask. Hiirl’s eyes narrowed and his head tentacles stilled their agitated movement. The mask revealed no facial features aside from a pair of round glowing eyes.

 

“Who are you with?” Hiirl demanded, crossing his arms impatiently. He used the movement to unobtrusively tuck his right hand into the hidden pocket on his lounging jacket.

 

The figure didn’t answer, and stood still and rigid as a statue for a long moment. The mask made it impossible to gauge what they were looking at or thinking, so Hiirl curled his hand around the hidden laser gun and continued in pretended exasperation, “Well? Who sent you, and what do they want?” He knew what they wanted, of course. If his rivals sent someone like this, it wasn’t his secrets or his data that they were after.

 

The masked figure jolted a little, and finally began to move. Hiirl was ready. He stood up and smoothly, as they took two steps into the room, whipped the gun out and fired.

 

Somehow, though, the intruder dodged and Hiirl went cold, fingers clenching tight around the gun. Where were his guards?

 

Time seemed to stretch out in the small room. The figure sped into a dead run across the short distance towards Hiirl, pulling something glinting from a sheath at their waist, even as Hiirl fired strafing shots towards them which missed because they were darting erratically side to side.

 

And they were close. Hiirl saw now that the glinting thing was actually a shining thing, it was a knife

 

\- and they were close, too close, and Hiirl tried frantically to push the button to call his guards and


	8. Return - Shiro

There was a wet tearing sound followed by a heavy thud, knocking the chair back and jerking Shiro backwards with it. Shiro was still frozen, half fallen back towards the chair, heart jackhammering against his ribs. That wasn’t – it couldn’t be –

 

But there were a few raspy, gurgling sounds from the chair where Hiirl had fallen, and then the sounds stopped altogether.

 

Shiro hastily shoved himself back into a more upright position and raised his useless prosthetic arm in preparation to defend himself from whatever was coming – perhaps he wouldn’t be able to block the killing blow, but at least he wasn’t going to die cowering – but nothing came, except the sound of someone dropping heavily to their knees barely a foot from him.

 

“Shiro…?” a voice asked, oddly distorted.

 

Shiro froze, then slowly lowered his arm.

 

“What is going… Oh my god.”

 

Shiro felt like he should recognize the voice, but it was too strangely mechanical – much like the way the Blades of Marmora sounded when they wore their masks, he realized.

 

Why was the Blade of Marmora here?

 

“Shiro…” the person – the Blade? – said again, and Shiro hadn’t thought any of the Blades could sound that emotional, so what was going on?

 

Gloved hands grabbed either side of his face and Shiro only managed not to flinch away due to months of harsh conditioning. The person tilted his face down and he could feel them move closer, as if they were trying to get a better look – but that was odd, too, what Blade would need him to look down – and he furrowed his brows in confusion. He reached up his flesh hand to touch the hand on his left cheek, and it was far too small to be Galra, so what –

 

“Shiro!” the voice said again, but halfway through his name, the distortion faded, and the sound was suddenly so familiar Shiro’s heart almost stopped.

 

“Keith?!” He grasped the hand under his and clung to it frantically. “Is it really – is that you?”

 

“Oh my god,” Keith was saying again, so many things in his voice that Shiro couldn’t even begin to parse them. “It’s you, it’s really – but how? What happened?!”

 

Shiro shakily reached out with his metal hand, needing to confirm it was really Keith, and tried to touch where he thought Keith’s face might be.

 

Keith’s next breath might have been a sob, but his free hand left Shiro’s face and a second later, Shiro could feel it land on his wrist, guiding his hand a few inches to the left. And there – the prosthetic was sensitive to heat and pressure, and he could feel the warm, familiar contours of Keith’s face under his fingertips.

 

“Keith,” he breathed, his voice hitching. “It’s you. It’s actually -” Abruptly, he remembered where they were and started to pull back, alarmed. “You have to get out of here, he has – had – a security force, I don’t know how many but they’re strong!”

 

Keith caught his hand before he could pull it away from his face, and dragged it back so that he could feel Keith shaking his head. “I’m with some of the Blade, they’re taking care of it.”

 

Shiro let Keith lower both of their hands away from their faces, but neither of them wanted to let go, and Shiro felt Keith scoot closer on the floor.

 

“Shiro,” Keith said, like it was hard to say anything else, but there was a tone of bewilderment in his voice, “what happened?”

 

“I’m not positive,” Shiro confessed, tightening his grip on Keith’s hands unconsciously. “If you mean how I got here, Black ejected me for some reason – I think Zarkon or Haggar did something to her just before the end – and one of Hiirl’s ships found me floating in space and took me in. After that…” He swallowed hard and turned his head to the side as if averting his gaze, out of habit. “He… kept me here. I couldn’t get away. For months, at least, I don’t know how long it’s been. Keith, I am so sorry, I tried to get back to you and the others, I promise…” His hands started shaking as the memories of those attempts’ consequences crowded in on his mind, and he missed some of what Keith was saying before he was able to tune back in.

 

“…And I didn’t want to believe it, I’m so sorry. I still don’t know what’s going on, I thought we’d found you already, and then things got strange and I should have **known** something was wrong…”

 

Shiro squeezed Keith’s hands and shook his head. “I heard a little about what’s been happening, there was no way you could have known that it – it wasn’t me.”

 

“If I’d stayed with the team, maybe…”

 

Shiro cut Keith off. “Maybe, maybe not. I still don’t know much of what happened, but **none** of it was your fault.”

 

“I went back,” Keith said, almost desperate. “I went back to where the battle happened right after you weren’t in your Lion, and every night after that for – and I missed you somehow, they found you and I didn’t.”

 

“It’s over now,” Shiro tried to reassure him, smiling shakily. It felt odd on his face. “You found me. The others – you said you came with the Blade, is the team safe?”

 

There was a pause, then Keith hurried to say, “Yes, I mean, they were fine when I checked in yesterday, I didn’t tell them where I was going.”

 

Shiro’s brow furrowed. “Why not? Is everything alright? Or – was it because of the – other me, or whatever he is?”

 

“I wasn’t…” Keith seemed subdued all of a sudden. “I’ve been with the Blade lately and I didn’t know what we’d find, here. Lotor was the one who told me you were here, but I still don’t know if I trust him. He saved us all but there’s still something off about him.”

 

“Lotor…” Shiro said slowly. “He was here last night.” His throat threatened to close at the memories. “He saw – he really was the one to tell you I was here?”

 

“Yeah,” Keith said, sounding hesitant. “What did he see? Shiro, did he hurt you?”

 

“No,” Shiro said, shaking his head quickly. “No, he didn’t do anything, he just… didn’t **do** anything.” He made himself review the previous night. “He didn’t make things worse, and he could have. I guess… he must have been playing along.” Being grateful to the Galra prince after everything left a sour taste in Shiro’s mouth, but he supposed that there hadn’t been much one man could do against Hiirl’s entire security team, and if it had taken playing along to let Lotor leave with the knowledge of Shiro’s location…

 

Keith made a strangled sound of frustration that echoed Shiro’s feelings on the situation very well. “I just – you were here this whole time?”

 

Shiro nodded.

 

Keith swore under his breath, and shifted somehow. “Okay,” he said with forced calm, “can you stand up?”

 

“Yeah,” Shiro said, and immediately went to push himself up to standing, but had to wince as the movement pulled at his ass. He gritted his teeth through the lingering pain.

 

“Are you okay?” Keith’s hands were on him, steadying him, and he sounded worried.

 

Shiro tried to soothe him, “I’m alright, just… my muscles are a bit sore, that’s all.” He tried to smile.

 

The silence was tense as Shiro managed to finish standing, and he kept a hand resting on Keith’s shoulder – he knew he could keep track of his location by sound at this point, but the contact was grounding. It made the moment feel less like a dream or a hallucination.

 

From the tightness in his voice, Shiro could only assume that Keith was being hit with the full effect of his humiliatingly changed appearance when he said, “What did they **do**?”

 

Shiro took a breath and shook his head. “Not now.” The shame threatened to overwhelm him, but then he remembered that Keith was smart, he’d figure it out even if Shiro didn’t spell it out explicitly, so he tried, “I mean. It was bad, but – I’m still here. He mostly just wanted to show off, but sometimes he had… guests.”

 

He could feel Keith tense under his hand, shoulders shaking. “And… your eyes?” Keith finally asked, seeming to have himself under control a bit better.

 

“Some kind of lenses,” he explained as calmly as possible. “I’m not sure how to get them out safely, it sounds like you’d need a doctor and some time.”

 

“How long…?”

 

“Since I got here.”

  
“Shit.”

 

The shaking under his hand started again, and Shiro squeezed Keith’s shoulder. “Keith. I’m alright.”

 

Hair brushed rhythmically against Shiro’s hand and he assumed that Keith was shaking his head. “You’ve been here for four months…” Keith took a breath and expelled it, then carefully said, “Can I… Can I hug you?”

 

The hesitance made Shiro’s heart clench even as part of him irrationally whispered it was because Keith was hoping he’d say no, what good person would want to touch Shiro as he was now, but he managed a nod. “Yeah,” he said, swallowing thickly.

 

Keith moved slowly, like he was telegraphing his movements as clearly as possible, but soon he was clutching Shiro tightly, cheek pressed to his collarbone. Shiro just stood dumbly for a second before his body remembered how to respond, but then he brought his arms up and clasped them hard around Keith in return.

 

They clung and raggedly breathed together and stayed like that for at least a minute, if Shiro had to guess, some hyper-vigilant part of him keeping track of their surroundings despite the moment.

 

The sound of footsteps approaching made both of them tense at the same time, though. Shiro started to let go and pull away to give Keith room to fight, but Keith’s posture abruptly relaxed in Shiro’s arms and Shiro stopped, hesitating. Keith’s arms twitched around Shiro, like he wanted to pull him back into the embrace, but when the footsteps became louder and stopped in the doorway, Keith let go slowly and with the greatest reluctance, keeping a hand resting on Shiro’s bicep. Shiro felt him shift so that he was standing slightly closer to the door, between it and Shiro. It didn’t feel like Keith was entering a battle stance, though, so Shiro kept his own posture relaxed and neutral.

 

“You found him.” The statement from the doorway was distorted in the same way Keith’s voice had been, and something about the flat tone was oddly familiar.

 

“It’s him,” Keith confirmed. His hand tightened on Shiro’s arm, quickly enough that it was probably unintentional.

 

“Good.”

 

Shiro finally placed the new voice as Kolivan, from the Blade of Marmora. It had been months since his few days’ interaction with the Blade, but the Galra’s manner and tone of command were unmistakable all the same, as was the deference in Keith’s own voice. What had happened while Shiro was gone, to make Keith sound like he now considered Kolivan a respected superior, and to give Keith access to their masks and something that, from the feel of it against his skin, was definitely not Paladin armor?

 

Keith’s grip on Shiro’s arm changed so that he could start tugging slightly. Shiro took a cautious step forward and Keith hurriedly narrated, “I can take you back to our ship. Is there something we should find to take with us?”

 

Shiro went with Keith’s pull and walked with him from the room. He could have followed by sound alone but he didn’t mention it, allowing Keith to keep holding on to lead him. The contact was grounding and Shiro wasn’t strong enough to give it up yet. “I wasn’t holding the Bayard when I was ejected. All I had when I was taken was my armor,” Shiro answered with a shake of his head. “I don’t know what they did with that.”

 

“We found it in a hallway near the hangars.” Kolivan’s voice came from slightly ahead of him and Keith, surprisingly quiet footsteps marking his location.

 

“Why was it in a…” Keith sounded confused; Shiro could practically hear the furrow in his brow.

 

The answer came to Shiro easily and he hesitated, but, “Hiirl was displaying it,” he said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. It was a guess, but…

 

“Yes,” Kolivan confirmed, without elaborating.

 

Keith’s fingers bit into Shiro’s arm for a moment before loosening.

 

Keith and Kolivan were walking confidently, suggesting that any threats had been dealt with already, but Shiro could tell Keith was keeping their pace slow in case Shiro needed it. Shiro appreciated the thought, but he put a hand over Keith’s on his bicep and squeezed lightly. “I can keep up,” he observed with a slight forced smile. “I’ve had a few months to practice.”

 

He couldn’t tell Keith’s reaction to that besides a small hurt-sounding exhale, but they did speed up a little after that.

 

There was the distant sound of an alarm elsewhere on the ship and the constant humming of its operations, but very little other noise came to Shiro as they walked. It seemed like any combat had been ended swiftly and efficiently already. He tensed when another set of footsteps approached, but Keith and Kolivan both seemed unperturbed, so Shiro made himself relax and keep walking.

 

The footsteps neared them, then fell into step with Kolivan up ahead. “We moved the ship to the nearest hangar,” a new distorted voice reported. “The armor has been brought on board, and we downloaded everything we could from this ship’s records.”

 

Shiro couldn’t hear a verbal response from Kolivan, but he wasn’t surprised.

 

“We have blankets and supplies on board,” Keith said quietly. The shift in his hand’s position told Shiro that Keith was talking to him again. “Talin is a field medic, but our actual medic at the nearby base has equipment – we’ll have to wait ‘til we get there to get those things out of your eyes.” Keith still sounded upset, but there was a restraint in his tone that Shiro didn’t remember hearing often. Whatever had gone on after Shiro left, Keith had matured. Shiro was sorry to have missed seeing it happen.

 

The paths Keith led him along were definitely new – after a particular right turn, Shiro no longer had any idea where they were, and the unease of it made the back of his neck prickle. He remembered being led down so many new corridors and side passages it made him dizzy before, and it had always ended with him being delivered back to Hiirl by his “rescuer.” Still, he kept his strides as confident as possible, and tried not to flinch when he came to the belated realization that he was nude in front of not only Keith, but also the leader of the Blade of Marmora and one of its members. He’d had worse humiliations in just the last day, though, so Shiro firmly pushed down the instinct to use his free hand to cover himself and instead focused on listening to their surroundings and, when the shame threatened to rise up again, on the feel of Keith’s hand on his arm.

 

A door, which sounded like a large one, hissed open in front of them and the group moved through it without slowing. Their footsteps echoed faintly once they’d passed through where Shiro thought the doorway was, and he had a sense of a huge open space. For a second the audible change from regular rooms and corridors was overwhelming, and he felt oddly untethered.

 

They kept walking for about half a minute, then there was a murmured warning from Keith, “We’re boarding the ship now,” and the feel of the metal under Shiro’s feet changed to a warmer metal that inclined upwards.

 

Shiro kept following without hesitation until Keith’s hand tightened slightly and stopped pulling. Shiro stopped. Standing still again, Shiro registered that the sounds around him had changed – there were no echoing footsteps, and there was something different about the air pressure, like they’d moved into a smaller enclosed space. Even without the context, Shiro would have recognized the feeling of being on a smaller ship again, and the sounds of Kolivan and the other Blade member moving around and sitting down, then the sounds of controls activating, confirmed it.

 

Keith led him to sit against a wall, murmuring, “Getting a blanket, I’ll be right back,” and Shiro leaned back hard against the humming metal, needing to ground himself in the absence of Keith’s anchoring touch.

 

It felt like zero-G, like the moment of plummeting off a cliff on his hoverbike. He barely believed it, but a simple fact started to sink in with the feeling of the ship accelerating under him and the blanket being draped over his body. When he heard and felt Keith come to sit on the floor beside him, pressed close shoulder-to-shoulder, Shiro finally let himself think it.

 

He was free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there's not a ton of resolution in this ending yet, but I've already started a follow-up to this (because there is a *lot* to resolve, haha). Thank you for reading!


End file.
